The damsel in distress was not for me…
Helen of Troy stares in the mirror | and wants to destroy what stares back. | She’s fifteen. She doesn’t know yet…
Stories Poems Essays
What it Mean(s)(t) to be a Doctor
I remembered, as I always do at such moments, the remarkable series of epiphanies I experienced on a Monday evening twenty-five years ago.
The Space I Take
In these poems I take a critical view of myself, more specifically my own perception of my body: the amount of physical space I take up…
No Pain, No Gain
I fold into a weary pigeon and dream about what it would feel like to perfectly execute a bear, a spoon, a spider, to live inside a healthy body that is not chronically ill…
A Reconstructed Life
Breast cancer causes profound loss and grief. We grieve the loss of our bodies. We grieve the loss of our feminine identity.
Dismantler
Warehouse of unassuming light | like a just-kissed face, eyes still closed | power’s out during my interview and tour | subdued orchestra of rain leaks through the metal roof…
Vacuum Extraction
Once, in an ultrasound room, a technician in a faded grey frock asked me which pregnancy this was. “My ninth,” I said in a flat voice.
before whisky after jazz
“after the toe-teasing whisky whipping morning jazz beach-kissing i wanted us to shift to the centre of our sun i found a black hole…”
Lotus
It doesn’t matter how old the wound is; the mere mention of him makes my mood shift. “Let the past be the past,” they claim. I am. “What’s your problem?” I have none.